


Let Go Control

by NicciCrowe



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke Is Really Stressed Out, D/s elements, F/M, Finn is a dick, Season/Series 01, and Bellamy wants to fix it, but i think we've established this, sorry i really don't like him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 07:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11801736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicciCrowe/pseuds/NicciCrowe
Summary: Keeping a band of 100 delinquents alive on a hostile, radiation soaked planet is pretty stressful, to say the least, and the leadership role is starting to wear on Clarke.The good news is, Bellamy has just the thing for that.-For continuity purposes Raven's descent happens a few days later than it does in the show.





	Let Go Control

It probably goes without saying that Clarke is stressed out.

Between fighting with Bellamy, saving Jasper (twice), killing Atom, arguing with Wells, _losing Wells_ , chasing Charlotte, then _losing her_ too… Clarke has just about had enough. She’s tighter wound than a spring, and she feels like even the slightest thing might set her off.

Monty was working on the wrist bands, and when they fry… Clarke felt the last bit of wind leave her sails. She saw Finn run off, and didn’t even think before moving to follow him, like an automaton in her constant drive to protect and save everyone around her (but never really finding time to help herself.)

She didn’t even notice Bellamy until he had her wrist in his grasp and she was jerking to a halt. She was almost a third party observer at this point, so exhausted and worn down that she just blinked slowly at where his hand was gripping her. She looked up at him, knowing her dazed and confused look hadn’t escaped his notice.

“We need to talk,” his voice came out as a growl, but it was softer than it usually was, so she interpreted that as Not Angry with her.

“Finn…” she began, half glancing to where the boy had slipped out of the wall.

“Can wait. We need to talk. Come with me,” he insisted, tugging on her arm slightly. He was still holding on to her?

Clarke was so numb at this point that she just followed, somewhat appreciative of the fact that she had a simple instruction to follow, rather than having to make a tough choice herself. She didn’t miss the flicker of surprise in his eyes as she went without protest, and his fingers seemed to waver slightly on her wrist before he huffed, and still held on, pulling her to his tent.

“What’s up with you?” he rounded on her as soon as they were alone inside.

“What are you talking about?” she frowned, her brain just not processing anything about this interaction like she should. _Maybe that’s what he was talking about._

“You’re like a zombie. I’ve never…” his mouth twisted, like he had a sour taste admitting that he noticed things about her, ever. “Seen you look like this. What’s going on?”

Clarke swallowed, not sure how to answer. It had been such a long, stressful 48 hours, and she hadn’t even properly started to grieve for Wells yet. It was just too much, but how did she articulate that to him?

_Wells was dead._

“I…” she began, and faltered, her voice trailing off along with her gaze. Bellamy’s brow furrowed, and he grabbed both of her upper arms firmly, but gently, forcing her to look at him with a slight shake.

“Clarke, talk to me. If you and I are making the rules now I need you firing on all pistons, okay?” his voice was almost an attempt at a joke, but Clarke just blinked at him, feeling vacant, struggling to come up with anything.

“It’s been a long day,” she finally said lamely, feeling the inadequateness of her statement hanging in the air between them.

“I know, Princess… and I’m sorry,” his voice softened, and her eyes widened, the first bit of feeling curling through her. She hadn’t even realized how numb she was until she felt it blooming in her chest, staining her cheeks pink.

“It’s just—” her breathing hitched as the dam broke, and everything came flooding out at once. “It’s too much, I can’t— _I can’t_ , Wells is _gone_ and I—I only just forgave him and now I, I—he’s gone and _Charlotte_ and the _wristbands_ …” her breathing hitched around her sobs and her frantic rambling was cut short by Bellamy grabbing her face.

“Clarke. Breathe.” But she continued to hyperventilate and sob, until Bellamy did the unthinkable.

He grabbed her face with both hands, and crashed his lips to hers.

Clarke froze, her mind blanking, but it had done its job. His kiss shocked her out of her break down. His lips lingered on hers for a brief second before he pulled back, a flush mounting his high cheekbones. Clarke was dazed again, but no longer numb. No, she was fully present, and _Bellamy Blake had just kissed her_.

He stepped back suddenly, as if shocked at himself. They were both silent for a long moment, and Clarke cleared her throat.

“Um. I have to…” she stuttered, then with a mumbled excuse turned on her heel and left the tent to stumble back to her own, Finn completely forgotten, leaving Bellamy in the exact same place he’d been frozen in.

-

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

He had just kissed Clarke.

Bellamy didn’t know what came over him, but she was clearly panicking and that was, apparently, the solution his brain came up with to get her to stop, and decided to go ahead with without any permission. He shook himself, running fingers through his hair, pacing back and forth in his tent.

After a while he finally gave up, his mind was racing in endless circles that always came back to the feel of her warm lips beneath his, the softness of her cheeks in his hands. It was maddening. _Why the fuck would he do that?_ What was he thinking?

He settled down on his cot to a fitful sleep, nightmares of Murphy swinging from the tree and Charlotte jumping off the cliff playing in a loop in his head.

The next morning, Bellamy was washing his face by the water station when he looked up and saw Clarke stopped dead staring at him. She flushed a bright crimson, turning on her heel and rushing off to another part of camp. He heaved a sigh, resigning himself to the fact that she would probably keep avoiding him until he put an end to it, so he set off after her.

He caught her slipping outside of the wall, and let her get a slight lead on him as she walked briskly into the woods. After a bit, he sped up and caught up to her, proud that she apparently hadn’t heard him following her yet.

“Clarke,” he called, and she whirled around, those lush pink lips parting in shock and _damn he really needed to stop thinking about that._

“Uh… Bellamy…” she said haltingly, her eyes darting around for some sort of excuse or reason to escape. He scowled, rolling his eyes.

“Can we not do the awkward avoiding thing and just talk about it like adults?” he crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at her demandingly. Her cheeks were still blushing a pretty red, and he really hated that now his mind was so hyper focused on her attractiveness that it was distracting. It’s not like he didn’t notice before, but he was always more preoccupied by how Obnoxious Princess she was, so it was secondary to everything. Now…

He didn’t know what she was now, but it was different. They were different.

“Look, I get it, you don’t have to patronize me…” she muttered, looking at the ground with something akin to hurt in her eyes. He frowned incredulously at her, sure he hadn’t heard her right.

“What, you think I kissed you out of pity?” he scoffed, and her eyes flew to his, the flare of anger in them comforting him, (strangely enough.) That was the Clarke he knew.

“ _I don’t know!_ I don’t know,” she threw her hands up, then ran them roughly through her hair, looking frustrated and stressed again. He took a step closer, peering into her face.

“Being in charge is wearing you down,” it wasn’t a question so much as a statement of fact. She chewed her lip, looking off into the woods, her brow puckered. How could she look so cute when she was pissed off?

 _Focus, Blake_.

“It’s… It’s just… a lot,” she admitted, shaking her head almost as if to herself.

“You need a break from the control,” he blurted out, then immediately clamped his mouth shut. _What the fuck, Blake?!_

She looked at him like he was missing a few cognitive synapses, and hell, maybe he was, because ever since that kiss, shutting down her panic with his assertiveness the thought had slowly taken root in the back of his mind and grown. He found himself fighting down a blush.

“…What?” she looked genuinely confused, and more than a little wary. What the hell, he’d already put it out there, he might as well just jump in two fucking feet first.

“Constantly being in control, having to make decisions, take care of everyone, and losing people,” he swept his hand out as if to encompass all the inhabitants of the drop ship. “It’s taking a toll on you, stressing you out too much. You need to _not_ be in control, for once,” he grimaced, wondering how much more explicit he had to get, but the look of her confusion was only turning more incredulous. _Fucking innocent Princess._

“And what, give you total control of camp? Cause that worked out so well last time,” she scoffed, and he suppressed an eye roll (and the small stab of pain and regret he felt at her words), pinching the bridge of his nose. She was making his palm twitch, so to speak. Hell, she had been making his palm twitch since she demanded he not open the dropship door after they landed.

_Focus, Blake. Reign it in._

“No, of course not,” he cut her off, scowling. “I meant, you need to let go of control in other ways,” he took another step closer, willing his eyes to convey the message, but Clarke, bless her, was clearly very inexperienced in this type of thing. He sighed, figuring he would just demonstrate. Gently.

He reached up slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away as he gathered her hair into one fist, wrapping it around once. He tugged, pulling her head back firmly and stepping all the way into her space, letting his lips drift within a hairs breadth of hers. He felt her gasp more than heard it, and her palms flew to his chest, surprisingly enough not pushing him away.

“This, Clarke,” he breathed, skimming his nose along her jawline, admiring the way her breaths became light pants just at that small touch. “Back there, we are co-leaders. You can chew me out, argue my face off, _challenge_ me all you want, but here, you do what _I_ say. Give up control of _yourself_ , to me, so that everything else doesn’t overwhelm you,” his voice was low, and he pulled back to meet her wide blue eyes, letting all the heat of his desire into his gaze. She licked her lips unconsciously, and he gritted his teeth. She was so delectable like this, and he could see it in her eyes. The idea of being able to let go of control of something, even if it was just this, it was tempting her.

“I don’t know…” she murmured, and he smirked. She wouldn’t be Clarke if she didn’t argue with him.

“Think of it as therapy. You’re constantly worried about other people’s wellbeing, but with me, I’ll be the one taking care of _you_. Telling _you_ what to do. Making you feel good,” he tugged her hair lightly, and her pupils dilated as they flickered to his lips. _Yes_.

“How much?” her voice was barely above a whisper, and a victorious smirk stretched almost lazily across his face.

“As much as you want, Princess. That’s the only decision you make. Everything else is my call. My terms.”

“How?” she swallowed, suddenly looking nervous, almost… shy. He wanted to groan. So fucking innocent, and about to be putty in his capable hands. He wanted her so badly it made his dick ache.

So, he might have a major kink. Especially when it came to the Princess. He’d wanted to bend her over his knees so many times in the first few weeks with her sassy mouth it had driven him almost crazy (and had been a very big motivator in how many girls he took to his tent to distract himself from the urge.)

“Do you agree? If something becomes too much, say ‘red’ and I’ll stop immediately, if you want to slow down, say ‘yellow,’” he said, and loved the way she inhaled sharply, her pupils so large there was only a thin ring of blue around them now. The inherent risk involved, the slight danger, he knew it would thrill her as much as it thrilled him. She was just like him in so many ways, it was frankly amazing he hadn’t realized it sooner.

She swallowed, fingers flexing in the material of his shirt, teetering on the precipice. He leaned down, letting his teeth graze her pulse point, and he could _feel_ the moment she caved as she practically melted into him, letting out a small breathless moan.

“What’s your answer, Clarke?” he breathed, tugging her hair again lightly. Her fingernails scraped his chest, and he didn’t think his dick could honestly get any harder.

“Yes,” she gave a quick nod, tensing up. He huffed a laugh through his nose, shaking his head.

“This is supposed to relax you, Princess. Take some responsibility off your shoulders,” he left a trail of kisses down her throat to her collar bone.

Clarke let out a shaky breath, then nodded, letting herself relax bit by bit. He let her hair down, enjoying the feel of the silky strands brushing past his fingers. He let his fingers trail over her body, skimming over her breasts and stepping down her ribcage with a feather light touch, continuing to press light kisses now and then over her throat and shoulder. He gathered the material of her shirt in his hands, rucking it up slightly so her midriff was exposed, and he let the pads of his fingers graze over the soft skin there.

 

Clarke felt like she couldn’t get enough air as he tortured her slowly with light touches, his hands edging ever higher up her sides until his thumbs teased the undersides of her breasts. She felt almost hyper sensitive, and every brush of his skin against hers was like an electric current.

Finally, he let his thumbs tease over her nipples, circling them and plucking them gently until they pebbled, and Clarke let out a gasp, biting her lip. Was it normal to feel this much pleasure just from being touched like this? It was almost like there was a direct line from her breasts to between her legs. His lips moved back up to hers, and she sighed into his mouth, letting him walk her slowly back until she was pressed up against a tree. With a soft curse, he filled his palms with her breasts, squeezing them slightly.

“Been wanting to do this since you complained about the air being _toxic_ ,” Bellamy quipped, nipping at her bottom lip and she rolled her eyes, the effect ruined by her sudden inhale. He moved his lips back down her throat to her chest, pulling the cups of her plain Ark-issued bra down to expose her flushed, pert nipples to the air.

Somehow Clarke still wasn’t prepared for his hot, wet mouth to envelop one peak, and she moaned, automatically rising up on her tiptoes to get closer to him. One of his arms wrapped around her back, holding her securely to him as his tongue and teeth lavished one nipple while his thumb and forefinger teased the other. Clarke felt her face flushing as pleasure curled through her belly. Bellamy moved to the other breast, giving it the same attention as the first, his hand trailing slowly down her stomach to unbutton her pants.

Slipping beneath her underwear, his fingers pressed ever so slightly against her clit, and Clarke gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders. He chuckled, low and deep in his chest, repeating the motion with a little more pressure, his teeth back at her throat.

“So wet for me already, Princess?” Clarke could see his smirk and she tried to look annoyed, she really did, but his finger had moved down to her entrance which was already soaked from his ministrations. He teased her entrance, moving his index finger over her labia in a lazy swirl, when finally she whined, bucking her hips in a wordless attempt to get him to touch her. His gaze shot up to hers, and the dark look swirling in his eyes sent a lightning bolt straight through her.

“You’ll get it when I say you will. Behave,” he ordered, and Clarke felt her knees turn to jelly.

_Holy shit._

The command in his voice rocked through her, and Clarke knew she must look floored in some capacity, judging by his smug smirk, but her ability to think was quickly dwindling as she obeyed the order immediately, stilling her hips with some effort. He kept his finger still for a few moments longer that felt like eternity before finally deciding he was pleased with how she listened to him.

He teased her for a little longer, his thumb pressing down on her clit at random intervals, eliciting a gasp or moan every time from her, before finally slipping his finger inside of her, curling it immediately against her g-spot.

Clarke’s head fell back against the tree, and she let her nails dig into his broad shoulders as he began slowly dragging his finger in and out of her, adding a second after a few passes. She felt herself go up on her toes, biting her lip hard at the pleasure slowly building inside her like a fire being stoked.

Bellamy suddenly brought both of his hands to her hips, and Clarke bit back to protest at his withdrawal, as he was pushing the offending garment down her hips and off of one foot. He did the same with her panties, and suddenly she was standing there against a tree, shirt rucked up above her straining breasts and bare from the waist down.

“Such a pretty Princess,” Bellamy growled, giving her a slow, consuming kiss before kneeling down in front of her. Clarke’s eyes shot open as she looked down at him, her fingers now digging into the tree behind her. “Are you going to be good for me, Clarke?” he asked, his deep, rumbling voice so sultry Clarke felt like it would burn her. She nodded, clenching her teeth as she saw him breathe in the scent of her on his two fingers, drawing them into his mouth to taste her essence.

 _My balance is in serious jeopardy if he keeps doing that,_ she thought frantically, unbelievably turned on by how hot it was. He hummed, smirking slightly.

“You smell as good as you taste, but I think I need more. What do you think, Princess?” he grabbed her left ankle, pushing it out so she was standing wide legged, her bare center on display right in front of his face. She wanted to press her legs together to cover herself but something in his eyes kept her from doing it. She nodded, but he tutted at her, shaking his head.

“You need to say it Clarke. What do you think?” his smug voice was going to be her undoing, and she tried her best to breathe through the desire pulsing through her.

“Please, Bellamy,” she whimpered, chickening out at the last second, but he just laughed.

“Please what, Princess?” he was really going to make her say it. Clarke felt another blush rise furiously up her throat to her cheeks.

“I want…” her voice faltered as he leaned forward, his nose bumping her clit as he very obviously took in the scent of her arousal, and it almost sent her over the edge. “Eat me out, Bellamy, please,” she finally caved in, and his answering groan was almost animalistic.

“Fuck yeah, Princess,” he nipped at the inside of her thigh, making her twitch slightly before finally, finally swiping his tongue over her clit.

Clarke’s back arched as his tongue stroked over her, sending flashes of pleasure through her that make her breath catch. The sight of his dark curls between her thighs was almost too much, but she held on desperately with one hand on the tree and threaded the fingers of her other hand through his hair, tugging slightly as he devoured her with abandon. His tongue swirled around her clit before changing to flicking over it rapidly, one finger teasing at her entrance. Clarke’s clipped moans seemed like they were too loud, but as the pleasure flared higher and hotter in her she could hardly bring herself to care.

“Bellamy, oh god,” she panted, feeling her release starting to coil in her lower stomach. He groaned in answer, moving down so his tongue could replace his finger, and Clarke’s leg that was on the ground started trembling. The deep gravelly rumble of his voice sent shockwaves through her, and Clarke moaned, her head thumping back against the tree as ecstasy overtook her.

A long, loud moan escaped her that sounded suspiciously like Bellamy’s name, and he licked her through the orgasm, his fingers tightening on her hips with a vice grip. Clarke pushed weakly at his shoulders, trying to get a break from the overstimulation, and he finally relented, standing up. His lips were glistening with her arousal, and without thinking Clarke leaned forward and kissed him, licking it off his lips. He cursed, pressing her back against the tree while kissing her, threading his hand through her hair, and Clarke arched her hips into the hardness she could feel pressing against her hip. His tongue danced with hers in a wicked way that had Clarke blushing while he made quick work of his belt and the clasp of his pants.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard Princess you won’t even remember your own name,” he growled, pulling her lower lip between his teeth and Clarke let out a breathless moan while he hitched her left leg over his waist so the head of his cock could tease at her entrance. They both seemed to pause at the feeling, their gazes locking for a long moment before Bellamy pulled her leg higher and pressed slowly inside of her, his eyes still locked on hers.

Clarke felt her lips pop open in an “O” as she felt the burning stretch, her walls fighting her trying to relax around his girth. He leaned his forehead against her temple, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, murmuring quiet encouragement for her to relax and take him. He finally slid all the way home, and Clarke sank her teeth into his shoulder, stifling a long, loud moan. She felt so full, pleasure sparking at the pressure against her clit from his skin, and she canted her hips after a moment, trying to get him to move, to get _something_.

Bellamy let out a shaky breath against her cheek. “You feel so fucking good, Clarke,” he rocked his hips experimentally, and Clarke let out another moan, her hands flying to his shoulders to have something, anything to ground her.

Bellamy started a slow, deep pace, mouthing down her throat over her collar bone, his free hand roaming all over her, pinching and squeezing her nipple between his fingers, and Clarke was lost. She’d never felt anything so good in her entire life, and she pulled him closer, arching up so he could push deeper, her nails scratching at his shoulders, the back of his neck, his scalp, until he withdrew suddenly and turned her around so she was facing away from him.

“Hands on the tree,” he ordered, and she obediently placed her hands on the tree he’d just had her against. She shivered as she felt his hands trail up her sides, the head of his cock nudging between her folds again and sinking slowly in. The new angle made her cry out breathlessly as he seemed to get even deeper at this angle, pressing against something in her that made her toes curl.

“Fuck, Princess,” Bellamy groaned behind her, palming her ass as he began thrusting harder, and Clarke couldn’t have stopped her moans if she tried, arching her back as he moved faster, his cock brushing against her G-spot with every movement, making lights dance behind her eyes. Her nails dug into the bark of the tree as an even tighter pressure curled in her stomach, something different than when his mouth had been on her.

Suddenly he stopped while pressed all the way inside of her. His lips ghosted down her neck over her shoulder and Clarke shuddered, gyrating her hips a little bit trying to get him to move again, but she only succeeded in his hands tightening on her hips in warning.

“I don’t want you to come yet, Princess,” he said, his voice dark, and Clarke bit back her protest, remembering what she had agreed to, and it send a little thrill through her. Her natural instinct was to argue and fight with him, but she knew she wasn’t supposed to. That she couldn’t. _She wasn’t allowed._ She felt her inner muscles flutter at his words, the idea of being at his mercy adding a punch of desire ot it, and he nipped at her skin. “You can only come when I say so. You think you can do that for me?” he moved his lips to her ear, and Clarke felt like she might just come from his voice alone. She nodded, but that earned a little slap to her backside that made her jump, the sting echoing deliciously across her skin, lighting up nerves she never thought would be excited from… _that_. “When I ask you something you answer me, Princess,” he reprimanded, and Clarke felt her cheeks flame with some unknown emotion, her stomach flipping at the command in his voice.

“I… think so,” she swallowed, and she felt him twitch inside of her. All she wanted to do in that moment was push back while he pulled out slowly, and it took every ounce of effort she had for her not to move.

“Good girl,” he murmured, snapping his hips forward without warning, and Clarke cried out, her head bowing as he started fucking her again, just as hard as before but this time Clarke knew she wasn’t allowed to come until he said so.

This was not gonna work.

Clarke tried to keep herself focused, tried to think of anything else while he took her hard and deep from behind, but her mind was full of him, no part of her body not on fire with his touch. She fought the fluttering of her walls, trying not to clench down but he was hitting her g-spot with every thrust at this angle and she started feeling the tell-tale building of pleasure.

“Bellamy, please,” she gasped, shaking her head as the pleasure threatened to tip her over the edge.

“Please what, Princess?” his voice was gravelly and dark, barely a tremor in his tone.

“I need to come, Bellamy,” she screwed her eyes shut, the slapping of their skin together so sinful and hot she felt like she would combust at any second.

“Ask nicely, baby,” he nipped at her earlobe, his front almost touching her back, and Clarke moaned, fighting with all her might not to come yet.

“ _Please, Bellamy!_ Please let me come,” she practically sobbed, and he cursed behind her, his thrusts losing their rhythm at her words.

“ _Fuck!_ Yeah, Clarke, come on my cock, babe,” he groaned, and Clarke finally cried out and let go control, clenching so hard on him as she came he cursed again and fell over the edge with her. The pleasure was almost agony it was so intense, and Bellamy continued thrusting through it, his cock throbbing inside of her as wave after wave of ecstasy washed through her. She realized she was whimpering as it slowly died down, and he was pressing light kisses to her cheek, holding her close to him as he shuddered through his own orgasm and slowly came down with her.

 _Oh my god. I just fucked Bellamy._ She almost laughed at the inane thought as it passed through her pleasure-dulled brain. He pulled out slowly, drawing a moan from her, and she turned, leaning heavily on the tree and looking at him bemusedly. She went about straightening her clothes, ignoring the rush of wetness dripping from her pussy. He had a rakish grin on as he buckled his pants, looking way too much like the cat who just got the cream.

(Well, he kind of did.)

“Feel better, Princess?” he asked, and she couldn’t help the small wry smirk that pulled at her lips. He was too cocky for his own good.

_But was she really complaining?_

“Yes, actually,” she admitted, and he grinned, grabbing her arm and pulling her into a deep, blistering kiss that left her head spinning.

“Now you can walk around the rest of the day with my cum dripping out of you, and remember who’s you are,” he nipped at her lip, and she felt her cheeks stain red. How could he say something so filthy and still sound so hot?

“I’m not…” she began, but clamped her mouth shut at his warning gaze.

“You thought I’d let you change your clothes and forget all about this?” he growled, backing her up so she was pinned between him and the tree he had just fucked her against. She swallowed, shaking her head, eyes wide. Why was this domineering Bellamy so hot, when usually he just infuriated her? “No, you’re going to help out around camp, wearing the same panties I ate you out in, and fucked you in, that already probably has my cum dripping onto. Got it?” his hand slipped underneath the seam of her jeans to press between her legs, and she gasped as he rubbed a finger against her sensitive pussy over her already damp panties. Her hands clamped on his shoulders as he kept rubbing her, her clit already pulsing again with desire. _How could she possibly want him again already?_

“Yes,” she whined, half in agreement and half at his ministrations. He groaned, pressing his chest against hers so she was pinned even harder against the tree.

“Already horny again, Clarke?” he nipped at her lip, and she moaned. “Fucking Christ, I knew you’d be insatiable,” he growled, making quick work of the buckle on her pants. He slipped his hand back between her legs, taking no time in rubbing her clit furiously. Clarke moaned against his mouth, bucking her hips into his hold as he had her building up high once again. Needy little whines escaped her control, and all too soon the heat between her legs flared and grew, and he didn’t relent until she was coming again, crying out his name, the sharp pleasure making her legs shake. He brought her down, slowly, kissing her languidly.

“This is mine,” he growled, flicking her sensitive clit one more time before extracting his hand from her pants. She blushed, fixing her clothes once again with a small smile, feeling decidedly lighter than she had the last week, and without a word they walked back to camp together.

For the rest of the day, Clarke had to admit she was markedly relaxed. The issues of the camp seemed a little less overwhelming, and she found that her head was clear and efficient, all except when she looked up one time to see Bellamy’s dark, heavy gaze on her from across camp where he was instructing the fortification of the wall. The promising heat in his gaze made her blush furiously, and she turned back to her conversation with Monty, hoping that she’d managed to school her face in time.

-

Clarke supposed she should be embarrassed that she forgot about Finn.

In her defense, things with Bellamy had escalated very quickly. In the span of 10 hours they had had a huge fight, he’d kissed her, and then they f—had s… did the… _thing_. Against the tree. That thing.

Yeah.

So when Clarke looked up to see Finn standing very close to her as she was sorting through the herbs she had, she couldn’t help but jerk backwards a little.

“Oh! Hi, Finn,” she said, feeling immensely guilty for some reason. She felt like she was branded, like it was written on her forehead _Bellamy And I Did Some Really Kinky Stuff This Morning,_ but Finn didn’t seem to notice anything different about her. He smiled his charming, dopey smile that was still a little sad.

“Hey Princess,” he said, and Clarke wanted to sink into the floor and die, because the second he said that Bellamy’s dark gravelly voice calling her that echoed in her head.

“Um…” she looked furiously down at the herbs, trying to school her expression, feeling the ghost of Bellamy’s hands all over her. “Where did you go last night?” her voice might have been too high to be conversational, but Finn didn’t seem to notice, again.

“The bunker…” he sighed, looking (dramatically) off to the side. “I just really needed some time,” he grimaced at her, and she nodded in what she thought was an understanding way.

“Yeah, it was a rough night for everybody,” she said quietly, then had to fight a blush when she remembered what else had happened last night after he left. And earlier that day.

“Hey, keep your chin up,” he smiled, touching her cheek, and suddenly a deep gravelly voice was coughing pointedly next to them. Clarke jerked up and met Bellamy’s pissed off gaze, and she couldn’t help but glance frantically at his hands which were clenched into fists, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Can we help you?” Finn said flippantly, and Clarke stood hurriedly.

“Yeah, I’d like to talk to my _partner_ , if you don’t mind,” Bellamy threw right back. Finn looked at Clarke like _can you believe this guy?_ However, she kept her face schooled and she nodded, putting away her herbs that she’d pulled out.

“Clarke doesn’t have to do anything!” Finn said belligerently, and Clarke stifled an eye roll.

“We need to talk strategy. It’s fine, Finn,” she frowned at his attitude. He was looking incredulously at her, but she caught Bellamy’s smirk out of the corner of her eye.

“Let’s go, _Princess_ ,” he pitched his voice just a little bit lower on her moniker and it had Clarke taking a deep breath as a small thrill went through her, her eyes widening at him. _Christ_.

“Clarke,” Finn started, but before he could say anything else Bellamy slung his arm over her shoulder, as casual as anything, and Clarke was unsuccessful at suppressing her eye roll this time.

“I’ll return her in one piece,” he joked, but there was an undercurrent Clarke didn’t miss to his words, an unspoken _mostly_ at the end of his sentence. She opened her mouth to tell them both they were being idiots, but Bellamy swung them around before she could get a word out, and sauntered across camp with her, with many a curious stare following them.

“You are so annoying,” she snapped at him, and his smirk only grew wider.

“I just love seeing Spacewalker squirm.”

“I know you do,” she bit out acerbically, and he laughed, squeezing his arm that was around her.

“I also don’t want to see him touching you anymore,” he said out of the side of his mouth, keeping his eyes ahead, and Clarke sighed as he ducked with her under the flap to his tent.

“It’s not like I asked him to,” she snapped, and it was her turn to cross her arms over her chest. She ignored his gaze that flickered down to her breasts.

“Well what are you going to do to stop him in the future?” he challenged, leaning back against the table crossing his arms to mirror her. The arrogance in his stance would have pissed her off a few days ago, but now it was just unbearably hot, and Clarke felt herself getting more annoyed at her stupid hormones than him.

“I’ll tell him I’m not interested, there really isn’t anything else to do,” she insisted, shrugging with one hand as if to say _what the hell do you want me to do about it_?

“Hmm,” he hummed non-committedly, his gaze raking over her unapologetically. She scowled at him, her hands landing on her hip, and _did she seriously just pop it like that? How classic annoyed female._

“I’m—” Clarke started to dismiss herself.

“I have a better idea,” Bellamy cut her off, suddenly grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Bellamy,” her tone was laced with warning, holding a finger out to him. “No. Whatever it is, no. This camp has seen enough drama,” she frowned at him, but he just kept grinning.

“Sure thing, Princess,” he shrugged, then sauntered closer to her, leaning in close so that his lips were only a breath from hers and forcing her hand that had been wagging her finger at him to press up against his firm chest. Clarke felt her entire body zing to life, and just as her eyes started to close in anticipation he whisked past her out of the tent, leaving her dazed and annoyingly aroused. Taking a few deep breaths and ignoring her racing heartbeat, Clarke left the tent, praying that it wasn’t obvious to everyone how flustered she was.

-

She really, really should have known Bellamy was up to no good.

That night as the delinquents sat around the big bonfire, partying and generally being teenagers with no supervision, Bellamy very obviously pulled her away towards the drop ship, but before going inside he veered to the left and tugged her around so that they were just out of sight of the delinquents. What she’d failed to notice is Finn’s narrowed gaze on them the whole way.

Bellamy backed her up against the drop ship, hands on her hips as he captured her lips in a searing kiss. Clarke sighed, opening her mouth and letting him in, her fingers tangling in his hair. He felt so good pressed up against her, hard everywhere she was soft. He grinded his hips against her slightly, and she couldn’t help but feel accomplished at the state of his desire. _She_ made him like this. Very slowly, he trailed a hand down her hip to her leg, and hitched it over his hip. He touched her other hip, and Clarke let him lift her ( _he could lift her!)_ so that she was pinned against the drop ship, her core flush with his hardness. He kissed her like it was their last night on Earth, grinding into her with deep, slow thrusts and Clarke moaned quietly, pulling at his hair.

“ _What the hell?!_ ”

Clarke gasped, looking over to where Finn was standing, having just rounded the edge of the drop ship. _Oh god, he followed them?_ She whipped her head back to see Bellamy’s cocky, self-satisfied grin, and she couldn’t decide who she wanted to hit more.  Scrambling down from his hold, Clarke tried to straighten her clothes as Finn stormed over.

“What the hell, Clarke?” he blustered, clearly angry. Clarke shot a glare at Bellamy who just smirked back at her, then turned to Finn.

“Finn, this really has nothing to do with you. Why did you follow us?” she frowned at him, ever so subtly stepping so that Bellamy was out of reach of Finn. The last thing they needed was a fist fight.

“I thought he was bothering you, clearly I was right. He’s got you in his clutches now!” Finn waved his arms around dramatically, and Clarke narrowed her eyes, raising a brow.

“Oh, because I have absolutely no agency in this choice, right,” she bit out sarcastically, and heard Bellamy snigger quietly behind her.

“But with _him?!_ Seriously?!” Finn took a step closer, reaching out as if to grab her arm. Bellamy tugged her back suddenly out of his reach.

“Alright, that’s enough,” his deep voice rumbled out, the threat clear in them. Clarke could see Finn’s incredulity flare into anger.

“This is between me and Clarke,” he nearly shouted, and Clarke saw Bellamy roll his eyes. She pinched the bridge of her nose at the figurative pissing contest happening right in front of her.

“No, actually, it’s between _me_ and Clarke, and you interrupted us, so if you don’t mind,” he slung his arm possessively around her shoulders again, and she was just about ready to bash both of their heads into the drop ship.

“Finn, please go,” she sighed, a wave of weariness suddenly washing over her. She watched his eyes stare accusingly at Bellamy’s arm around her, and he stormed off. Clarke felt her shoulders droop, watching him go.

“Clarke?” Bellamy’s voice was soft, and she shrugged out of his hold, eyes downcast.

“I never wanted to hurt him,” she whispered, her voice small. She felt so awful, and slowly made her way back to her tent without a backwards glance at Bellamy.

-

A few hours later, Clarke was still staring at the wall of her tent, not sure how she’d ended up in this position. Finn was her friend. He’d been there for her through so much, and if she was honest with herself she had even started to fall for him a little. Never in a million years had she thought she would have gotten involved with Bellamy, the resident camp tom cat. What was she thinking?

 _I was thinking he and I are like magnets,_ she thought wryly to herself. _Opposites attract and all, and then they explode._

Was that all she was to him? She wondered suddenly, and her heart ached even worse at that thought. Was she just another notch on his headboard? A particularly difficult conquest? These thoughts were making her sick, so she dismissed them and shut her eyes for the tenth time, trying desperately to slide into a sleep that wouldn’t come.

Just then she heard a light shuffling at the entrance to her tent, and she childishly shut her eyes, pretending to be asleep. She heard his tell-tale heavy foot falls, and his weight suddenly press the bed down.

“Clarke,” he whispered, trailing his fingers lightly over her face, and she pretended to wake up.

“Bellamy?” her voice was just the right amount rough, (but that may have been from her earlier bout of crying.)

“Hey,” he said softly, and she could just barely make out his frown in the muted moonlight. He looked adorably distraught, his deep eyes swimming with regret. _Oh. This is why she’d fallen in with him._ “I’m sorry, about earlier… I couldn’t sleep, and…” his voice faltered, and he clenched his jaw, the muscle in his cheek ticking, and he looked away. Clarke was just about ready to melt into the floor. “I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be starting shit with Finn, especially when it upsets you. It was a dick move,” he frowned, and Clarke smiled softly, her heart softening at this boy who was just as human as her.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, enjoying the feel of his thumb brushing lightly against her cheekbone.

“Good,” he smiled back at her, and Clarke knew she was done for. “I’ll let you get some sleep then,” he leaned down, brushing a light kiss on her lips, and something in her spun at that gentle touch. He stood, starting towards the entrance.

“Wait…” she stammered, blushing suddenly. He looked back at her curiously, his brow furrowing adorably. “You… can stay, if… you want,” she said lamely. Wow. Great game, Clarke.

Bellamy just smiled, coming back and sitting on the bed again, toeing off his boots.

“I sleep in my boxers, just so you know,” he waggled his eyebrows ridiculously at her, and Clarke rolled her eyes, smacking his shoulder before scooting over, making room for him. He quickly peeled off his clothing, and slipped under the blankets with her. Clarke almost shivered at the wonderful heat blazing off him as he pulled her to his chest, letting her get comfortable against him.

“Goodnight,” she said around a huge yawn, trying hard not to snuggle into him too obviously.

“Goodnight, Princess,” he answered softly, pressing a kiss against the top of her head. Clarke let her eyes shut, heavy sleep finally stealing over her as she listened to the steady beat of his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, yes I'm finally reposting this. I changed a little bit about it, but honestly if you think this relationship is "too fast" or not believable... please rewatch season 1 and observe the way these two idiots stare at each other from the second their eyes meet. (Tension, anyone??)


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